S I X T E E N

The Grimoire was only a few doors down. You had to be one of the enlightened to know where it was because there wasn't any sign. Well, no visible sign. We stepped down into a little fenced off area that looked like a basement entrance until we were inside the first doorway and moving up a long flight of narrow, wooden steps. The planks were so old, they were bowed in the middle and creaked under our feet. I could tell Rick was absolutely fascinated behind me, wondering if he was going to fall through. The floor and walls throbbed like a heartbeat or breathing but it was just bass reverberating from the music inside. We reached another door at the head of the stairs and a little window opened up top, spilling out a swirl of light and sound. A face forced itself into the opening, staring down at us, and growled deeper than the bass inside, "When was you borned?"

<Sundown on the third day>

I sent that message up but he didn't even blink. The little door closed and the big one opened and I was kind of staggered. The doorman was a dwarf, standing eye-level with my belt buckle. Looked like a barrel with arms and legs stuck on and a round, fat keg. Long, white hair frothed over his ears and chin, as curling, sleek and silky as a woman's. There were three thick gold rings in his right ear and a diamond stud in the left that was big enough to look fake – except it wasn't. Dwarves don't truck with paste.

I stepped over the threshold, covertly looking for a ladder or a stool. Didn't see one. The dwarf barred Rick's way, planting himself in the doorway, hooking his thumbs in scarlet suspenders. GQ gone weird.

"When was you borned?" he demanded.

"August twenty-fifth," Rick stuttered out, more bemused than angry.

"Significant Seven, the Virgin weighs the Scales – seven vices, seven virtues, seven deadly sins." The dwarf held up his hands while he was chanting like he was weighing something, then proceeded to juggle the results. Finally he says, "The signs are favorable. Enter freely."

Rick's expression looked more like he'd been told "Abandon all hope ye who enter here" but he stepped over anyway. The big door closed behind us.

I flashed Tasia's ring at the dwarf and he stared at the garnet and silver like he would swallow it in beneath his thick, shaggy brows.

"Take us to the Matrice," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"She don't know you, do she? Who she don't know, she don't see."

"Do you know me?"

"No."

"Would you like to?"

I smiled at him and let the light bounce off my canines.

"Follow Duncan," the dwarf said and headed off across the room.

Behind me, Rick breathed out, "Bluff-ing...." and I hissed back, "What makes you so sure?" Then we had to move fast to keep up with our guide which was no great pleasure since I was still inclined to move slow and careful. Every step came down as if I were poised at the edge of the Big Pit. Seriously. I had this thought that I would put my foot down, the floor would give way and I would just keep falling, face first, forever. Partying at the gas station did more to awaken the Hunger than ease it. Feeding had returned sensation to my numbed-out nerve ends but everything I touched carried an aftershock-texture of finely shattered glass-under-skin. We had to shove our way through the crowd, which wasn't great, although whenever anyone actually looked at me, they backed off without any encouragement. I needed to feed again, bad, and being surrounded by all that available flesh was more than frustrating. Especially since I couldn't do anything about it – not before clearing it with the folks in charge.

Duncan all but danced through the mass, making his way to a circular, iron staircase at the end of the room. I'd never been to the Grimoire despite all the time we'd spent on the coast. Byron and the others used to head out there a lot but I'd always passed. I'd been to the Fae hostels before and knew what to expect. Co-existing with one self-superior Blood was enough. Mixing about with a bar full of them was not my idea of a fun way to pass time. Granted there weren't that many Blood in the throng, that would be insane. Stands to reason a territory can support only so-many vampires but, like I said before, the Fae have their human associates. Besides, there's other kinds of Fae who love to frolic and this was the place to hang out, to be seen at and be thrilled. Phoebus was old territory, the Grimoire a landmark among our kind.

And it was mobbed that night broaching the thick of the evening between ten and midnight, the hour that separates the curious from the true achiever. Didn't see any locals but I didn't expect to. Many were leaving, moving out on the squeal of hysteria and relief as other, darker participants, both mortal and Fae, drifted in. Everyone wore black but color and mode of dress have nothing to do with the true dark.

A band played below and pushed the volume the higher we climbed. Colored lights, green and blue and lightning-white, strobed the room. Peckinpah's Wild Bunch spliced in with Laurel and Hardy, animated Armageddons and cartoon porn rippled over giant video screens framed in Victorian gilt-grotesque. The screens alternated with similarly framed, fun-house mirrors. Patrons danced with themselves and others infinitely reflected in distorted silver. Occasionally, a true-visage glimmered back from a mortal facade - and disappeared. Sometimes, something else peered out of the glass where no visible being stood before it. Then faded back. Bits of bright, shifting color swooped down from above, soared over the stage and back again trailed by shrieks of fright and more from the human in the crowd. They weren't part of the light show.

Duncan had darted ahead and reached the platform several beats before us. There was one big table up top heralding that kind of above-it-all, aristocratic atmosphere that always raises my short hairs. There were two of them, a man and a woman. She was sitting at the head of the table, shuffling slowly through a deck of cards, laying them out – not looking at them, looking at us. Her skin had started dark but now it was white as frost, so translucent the blue veins gave her pallor an edge. Her eyes were great, deep wells of glittering midnight. Looked right at you, into you. Knew you at a glance. Her lips were pale and full under a hood of a nose like a female hawk. Her hair was so black and shiny it looked like spun-out, patent leather pulled up and clasped on top of her head. Made her features just that much longer and sharper, her cheekbones and jaw that more arcane. She was Blood. She was old – maybe even older than Tasia. I wondered if she was a Regent.

Her companion was mortal, in his fifties, and built like a mid-sized, brick fortress. He held a bottle of Dos Equis in a fist as big and chewed-up as a miniature pit bull. He was another redhead, except his curling, graying locks receded from the temples leaving a deep widow's peak. Still it was flame-on, deep red same as mine. With the three of us gathered together – me, Rick and this new guy – we looked like a meeting of some kind of club.

"You've been announced," Duncan advised and skipped past us heading back down the stairs.

"Duncan, bring up a couple more brews," the man said.

Saw that didn't sit well with Duncan but didn't hear any back-talk. The man seemed friendly enough and I started hoping maybe this won't go so bad but time began to pass and nobody said anything else like "have a seat, take a load off" so we just stood there. And they just sat. Below, the band kept playing and the party kept bopping. I leaned against the railing and watched casual-but-elegant-clad waiters and waitresses perform intricate, ballet-type moves through the crowd delivering orders and picking up empties. On stage, the band's front man was really into it, effecting a dramatic, moon-howl stance and sound, belting out a very authentic final snarl. He even looked like a big blond timber wolf in human form. The set finished and the band drifted down into their audience. They were damn good and, despite everything else that was supposed to be happening (and wasn't), I was intrigued.

"Who are they?" I asked.

Silence lingered long enough to make a point – which I got. "Don't speak until spoken to in the presence of the big shots." I'd blown protocol again. Darn.

Then the companion said, "They're calling themselves White Russian. Came in from Siberia last week."

"Siberian wyrwolves?"

"Just the lead singer."

"I've never seen a wyrwolf before. Let's hear it for glastnost."

He laughed a little and said, "I don't think glastnost has anything to do with it."

Finally, the Blood drawled out, "Anthony Firehair of Gemelo House, what a surprise."

"Call me Tony." Didn't wait for an invite, just pulled out a chair and parked it. Rick sat down beside me.

"Most here call me Abby," she said. "You may call me Madam Absinthe. What brings you to Grimoire?"

"Just looking for a place to crash."

"We weren't expecting you."

"That makes two of us."

"Byron and Roxanne passed through recently to pay their respects before leaving the territory. We were given to understand you would be traveling alone."

"Well, there was an accident and my car was totaled. Me, too, almost. As you can see." I lied. Sort of, uncertain about what to tell them. "This is Doctor Rick Mallock. He found me and helped me out. We're going to be traveling together for a while."

"How lucky for you." Absinthe could've frozen flame with that voice but it just made me hot.

"Look, I guess you and Byron are friends. Okay. Then you know we fought and you know how it turned out. Maybe I was wrong about some things. Maybe it's not realistic for me to go it alone."

"I am not the one you should be apologizing to."

"Don't get me wrong, Madam, I am not apologizing. Byron held a tight leash. I'm not sorry I got away from him."

The Blood fixed me in her onyx eyes like a cat sighting an incompetent pigeon. "You poor thing."

She didn't mean that in a nice way. Her temperature plummeted another couple of notches. Mine hit boil. Duncan reappeared with the requested brew and set one down in front of Rick, the other by the companion while Absinthe and I glowered at each other. Duncan settled behind his mistress and glared at me as well, a diminutive but-to-be-reckoned-with Viking. Probably had troll blood in him somewhere. Dwarves can be fierce when provoked and they always enjoy a battle. They're lifetime-loyal, too, which can run into some years when you're working for Fae. Anyway, I felt my traditional "fuck you" response flaming up in my throat. Then, under the table, Rick stepped on my foot – too hard to be an accident – so I reconsidered and didn't actually say it. But I looked it Real Hard.

"You're different," Absinthe says after a while but not light or joking around. "Different from Tasia's usual tame git. I sense a lot of incubus in you."

There was no response I could think of to that which wouldn't have caused blood to be spilled so I kept quiet.

"You had better return to the door, Duncan," Absinthe continued. "A new band always brings a crowd. You know what it will be like tonight. Drink your beer, Doctor Mallock. No need to be shy."

"Haven't been accused of that since I was thirteen ... fourteen years old," Rick said. "Lady, we're not here to make trouble or start a fight. If you can help us out, fine. We're obliged. If not, we'll be on our way."

"How long have you known Tony?" Absinthe asked.

"Six years. Starting three days back."

"Time flies," I said and gave him a look.

"Sure does," he agreed and gulped down a big swig of Dos Equis.

"I've been remiss in my introductions," Absinthe said. "Allow me to present my companion, Archie Stutz."

Rick's eyes lit up like blue firecrackers. "Archie Stutz – not Bearcat Stutz? But you used to play with Green Bay."

"A long time back," Archie acknowledged, grinning.

"It hasn't been that long," Rick said.

Rick and Archie exchanged handshakes and, like magic, me and Absinthe became invisible while they jabbered at each other. It all went over my head. I didn't know anything about football – or baseball, hockey, tennis – none of that stuff. Those kind of sports weren't part of my formative years. I glanced over at Absinthe and saw she was lost, too. Also, she was trying – because she saw me watching – but she couldn't hide what she felt for Bearcat Stuz. I'd seen that before but it was rare, startling whenever it comes up because it's so clean.

She loved him.

That didn't mean I liked her any better seeing that. They say even Medusa loved.

It was quieter in the Grimoire with the band off stage. The chatter between Rick and Archie made a friendly sound like we were all buddies hanging together on a night out. Absinthe and I still played frosty with each other though the edge had dulled a bit. I felt like hell and was too tired to keep at it. She simply didn't bother. I was less than nothing to her and she made it obvious. Well, it's always good to know where you stand. Even when you don't.

Absinthe picked up her cards again and started shuffling. I saw it was a tarot deck and asked, "Are you Bast?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I saw a little store front in the alley with a sign that read 'Eye of Bast – Fortunes, Potions, Advice, Used Books and Video.' That you?"

"No one has to cross my palm with silver to know the future." Absinthe held the deck out to me. "You cut. Three to the left."

I wanted to pass but she wasn't offering alternatives so I cut the deck and she piled it up again.

"I am not a friend to Byron," she said quietly, laying out cards face-up in patterns before us. "Byron has no friends as you have observed."

She could have shot me, I wouldn't have been any less surprised, her saying that. But I had to ask, "Did you know him – before?"

"Yes."

"What was he like?"

"Egotistical and vain and very stylish. Yet George Gordon, Lord Byron was a peacock with substance, absolutely brilliant. Charming, loving and gifted. Unaffected by conventional standards, he was the kind of boy who always needed to know 'why' and grew into a man who demanded answers. George lived by his personal convictions without apology. You may take me at my word that there has never been a time when this was not difficult to accomplish. He was a success at it, however, the sort of mortal who set the fashion for his time. All strived to keep up with him, to anticipate his next caprice. How could the Fae not notice him? It was a time of great passion and great poetry. Dark angels mixed quite freely with their mortal cousins, talented, luminous little flames who burned to sing our shadow songs and tell our dark tales. What's the current phrase – wild and crazy times? That's the first thing that dates us, you know. Slang."

"Yeah, I've noticed," I said, remembering this guy who came up to me at Tasia's once singing out, "23 skid-doo" like it was supposed to mean something. And so it did. To him.

"Best to avoid slang if you can. Still, they are such colorful phrases and convey such feeling." She paused and studied the layout on the table. I looked, too, but the cards made as much sense to me as Rick and Archie.

"We knew an absolute feast of poets back then, Keats, Shelly, Coleridge – what a glut," Absinthe went on. "Byron was our best."

"What happened to him?"

"They made him one of us. Made him Blood."

"So?"

"So, Byron received his inspiration from the Midnight Muse. Mystery was his mistress; question his driving force." The stars in Absinthe's black eyes sparkled like light on a blade. "I've heard that you're a musician. You must know what it is to write. You understand how words and music labor within until it is impossible to hold them back. They rush out – good or bad – but completely yours. A singular wanton, wonderful, abandoned act of absolute creation and so very personal. 'Better than sex,' that's a phrase they use nowadays, isn't it?"

She was looking at me, very serious. Kind of sad.

"What you're telling me is, Byron can't do it any more," I said. "He can't write."

"You comprehend."

"But – why? I don't...?"

"You found your music when you came over. Byron lost his. It is as simple as that. The mortal hurled genius into the night, dancing on the edge of black chaos. In death, the final mystery was exposed for him. The ability was gone although the yearning remained. He can still string words together, but they have no meaning, no spark. It was the most colossal joke."

"They knew that would happen?"

"Most certainly. From the moment temptation was deliberately placed in his hands, his ruin was inevitable. It has happened before, many times. How do the long-lived pass the years? Most find a creative outlet – music, writing, art, theater – which keep them enmeshed in human society. It is more than the need to feed. We require an audience, someone to tell us how wonderful we are. From the followers come the students, the new artistes. It rarely plays well for the mortal who exceeds his Dark Master. Or Mistress."

"It wasn't Tasia who changed Byron was it?"

"No, child. It wasn't your Tasia."

"Who?"

"Her name was Estienne. She was a young one and she did it to impress another who wasn't much more than a mad child himself."

"I don't know her."

"Of course not," Absinthe said. "Byron destroyed her ... as he will finish destroying himself sometime in the near future, I suspect."

I frowned, angry. "Tasia should have told me," I said. "She should have said something."

"Would you have listened?"

Bitterness was rotten fruit and razors in my mouth. I looked away.

"Under the circumstances, why would you?" Absinthe asked, surprising me again. "I guessed your pairing with Byron was another of Tasia's inspirations and even less clearly thought out than usual. Don't tighten up like that, child, you'll explode. Byron's no worse off than before. If anything, you gave him something new to think about besides this old tragedy. I am given to understand you are quite a handful."

"It's a gift."

"Trouble is one of your best talents from what I've heard. And what I see." She indicated the cards before us.

"Some of these are upside down."

"Yes. They're supposed to be like that."

"What does it mean?"

She didn't even blink, just stared at me straight and said, "You're doomed."

"Aw, hell, Madam. I could have told you that."

"What's going on?" Rick asked.

"Madam Absinthe is telling my fortune. Apparently, I'm doomed."

"We're all doomed," she said. "All fated, some more than others."

"Fortune telling? You don't believe in that stuff?" Rick asked.

"Because it is magick? Look around you, Doctor Mallock." Absinthe smiled. Rick looked uncomfortable. "There is less magick to the art of fortune telling than you would suppose," she continued. "The past is always with us. It's only a matter of hours before tomorrow becomes yesterday. Prophecy is a knack of reading patterns accurately. The great motivators are always with us, fear, greed, jealousy –"

"Love," Archie added, grinning.

"Love," she agreed. "The cards are keys that unlock the future ... or futures."

"What do you mean by 'futures'? There's more than one?" I asked.

"There are always possibilities. Decisions. Responsibilities. The cards show us what could be. If we don't like what we see, it is our responsibility to change it."

"So what do you see for me?" I asked, feeling very tired and sick and wanting this to be over so we could get on to something else – like feeding and rest.

"This is your card," she said, pointing, "the Sun."

There was a picture of a fat, yellow sun beaming down on a naked kid riding a horse. Couldn't tell if the kid was a boy or a girl but since it was supposed to be me, I thought of it as a 'he.' He was a cheery little sod, riding around, arms outstretched, sunflowers blooming around him. All that kind of happy crap. Crossing over top of him was a card that read "The Moon" which wasn't as jolly-looking. It was a night-time scene, looked like a graveyard or something with towers in the background. Dogs and wolves bayed at a Moon who was frowning down at them.

"The Moon crosses you," Absinthe said.

"Why doesn't the Moon like me? And if I'm a creature of the night, how can my card be The Sun?"

"It's symbolic. Your card means rebirth and attainment in the arts. That should please you."

"Rebirth? It's been years since I Changed."

"We are speaking in spiritual terms."

Mental, too, I guessed, which was not my specialty because I was not getting it. Absinthe frowned, looking at cardboard slabs like she was going to command the painted faces to start talking. I got the feeling they weren't cooperating. Either that or the future was worse than she expected and she was being nice, keeping it all to herself so as not to upset me. Which wasn't likely.

There were lots of picture cards. The Star was right under my Sun card, a serene, blond beauty pouring water into a pond with lots of stars beaming around her head. There were others that weren't as pretty like the Tower, the Devil and the Ace of Swords. It might have been interesting if I hadn't been trying to hang on by more than a thread.

"You don't have many choices, I'm afraid," Absinthe said after a short eternity. "I've rarely seen so many major arcana cards in a reading. What that means is there are forces beyond your control influencing your personal events."

Felt like saying, "Tell me something new." Didn't.

"You must accept the power that is yours," she continued. "Beware of the misuse of magick or the art used for personal gain through the pain of others."

"Is that it?"

She held the deck out to me. I took her meaning and drew off the top card.

It came up Death. Number 13. Old Bones in armor riding a pale horse trampling men, women and children underfoot. Some of the bodies were corpses, some were still living. In the background, a bloody sun sank in the west.

I handed the card back to her and said, "I've already been there."

"Then why fear it?"

"Dying wasn't much fun the first time."

"You don't have to take the card at face value," she said. "That sun could be rising. The card can mean change and renewal."

"I bet it can also mean Death. Madam, I'm not looking to find my future in a deck of cards, no disrespect intended. I am looking – I am asking for Blood Sanctuary for me and my partner."

"As Consort to Gemelo House?"

"Whatever."

"Welcome to Phoebus, m'lord," Absinthe said. "How may we serve you?"

"We'll need a den and fresh earth."

"Fresh earth?"

"From Brooklyn. Operating capital. And right now, I need to feed."

"Well, I believe we can satisfy all of your requests," she said, very smooth, and Rick looked uneasy again.

It was at this time that the children came running up to the platform. Two of them, girls no older than ten, one black and one oriental. They were dressed up like little groupies in glitter rags and beads. Looked like they had bathed in a vat of Cover Girl.

This was something I'd seen before. Grown up with. Thought I'd escaped it once I'd made the Change but I hadn't. Still, it wasn't flesh Blood wanted most from their little, human pets. It wasn't even the fluid that ran in their veins. It was the fear, the helplessness, the desire to overwhelm and control that drove them – same as it drove the human monsters. There's nothing as intoxicating and pure as a child's laugh. Nothing as rich as their undiluted terror.

The girls clattered to Absinthe's side and the oriental girl gasped out, "Peter says there's going to be two more sets – maybe three!"

"We have guests," I heard Absinthe begin through a scarlet fog. "This is Tony and Doctor Mallock. These are my girls, Nadine and Mei."

The kids stared, wide-eyed and solemn, going quiet as soon as they saw me and Rick. I locked my fists onto the arms of my chair. When I moved, Nadine flinched and backed away and, God, I just knew what she was afraid of. If I'd had the strength, I would have gone for Absinthe's throat. Couldn't have beat her, the shape I was in, but I would have gone for it.

"No children," I snapped. "I won't touch children."

Absinthe slapped on a splendid mask of indignation. "What makes you think I would offer my family to you?" she demanded.

I laughed at her but it came out a snarl. "Family – now there's the most misused 'F' word in the English language. It's supposed to cover up everything, isn't it? Supposed to make it all right."

"You are still very human, aren't you?"

"Don't give me that crap. I've traveled with the Blood long enough to know that's not as big a sin as they make it out to be," I said. "There are worse things than being human."

"Only barely. It takes a human to disregard the most precious gifts. The Blood transform life, we cannot create it. Without it our existence is hell, the living death. Humans dispose of lives the way a child abandons a broken toy. We come from human and are heir to all their faults, but do not cast your evil over me because I will own none of it. These are my children, my family. I do not feed off my family nor do I offer their souls to strangers."

She meant it, too.

Absinthe not only knocked the wind out of my sails, she grounded the boat. The kids were looking at me like they'd just peeked under the bed and discovered a horror show monster. Which was a compliment. I was feeling more like something found under a rock.

The abyss opened wide at my feet and grinned.

"I'm sorry," I stammered. "Sorry. I just ... I don't like kids to be hurt. Someone should take care of them, you know? They're just little kids...."

Then I went quiet and didn't say anything else.

Rick put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Hey?"

Suddenly, everyone else looked confused as hell. Gazing up them from the depths of the pit was like looking at a very good, 3-D photograph, something I was completely separated from. I was gone – wandering around down deep inside myself. My red fog had disappeared, replaced by something thick and gray with little shadow things that capered around the edges.

Archie got to his feet and took my arm, helped me up. "Why don't you come with me?" he said.

I walked away with him. Left Rick sitting with Madam Absinthe and her family and followed Archie down a hallway to one of the back rooms. It was a little bedroom with a bed and dresser and nightstand and all. He turned on a lamp filling the room with a soft glow. I stood where he left me, still adrift, remembering other little rooms and little people.

He didn't waste time, just stripped down fast and turned the bedcovers down, a too familiar ritual that woke me up somewhat.

"It hurts to lay down," I said. "I don't want to lay down."

"It's all right," he said, guiding me towards a chair. "We can use this."

Archie kept talking although I wasn't grasping much of what he said. I was too busy being useless. He took my hand and eased me all the way into the room. Closed the door. Unzippered my jacket and slid it off. Went to work on my pants and I heard him say, "Man, he really did you good" and I looked up and said, "Who?"

"Whoever hit you. With the bike. He really wrecked you."

"I didn't say anything about a bike."

"No, you didn't. Rick told me you were with a biker group. I figured a bike was involved. Was it?"

"Yeah."

He took my hand and pulled me along with him. Still gentle - or maybe just cautious. But I stopped in front of the dresser and looked back at me from the mirror. Kept gaping at myself, frozen, unable to move. No wonder the girls had been so terrified.

"They were scared of me."

Choked out that big revelation to Archie to whom it came as no great surprise. But he grabbed the spread off the bed and threw it over the mirror. Then he sat down in the chair and pulled me over to sit, too, straddled over his lap. I perched there, as supple as a plastic doll. Looked down and saw that "incubus" part of me raring to go as always. Another "colossal joke" registering large on the Richter scale of Blood humor except I didn't feel like laughing. Felt like screaming. Felt like crying.

I didn't know this guy at all but he put his arms around me and held me. His hands smoothed the back of my head and stroked my shoulders, comforting like you would a child. Except I wasn't a child. Hard to say anymore exactly what I was supposed to be. Lame, moronic and evil-minded all fit.

"What is it?" Archie asked.

"They thought I was going to hurt them."

"No, they didn't think that. You look bad now, you scared them. That's all. Abby would never let anybody around her children she thought would hurt them. They know that."

"How did they get here?"

"She discovered them trying to break into the club, scavenging for food. They'd had a bad time of it and run away. Once she heard them out, Abby wouldn't send them back. She takes care of them. They're hers now."

"She probably thinks I'm a first class jerk."

"Yeah. Probably," he said. Then laughed, but it wasn't a mean sound. I felt it deep, rumbling and warm in his chest. But the nicer he was, the worse I felt.

"Don't take it so hard, Firehair," he finally said.

"Don't call me that. Please."

"Why let it bother you? It's a legitimate distinction. A lot of vampires who started out with red hair grow dark once they come over. Like Byron. Although he wasn't expected to last this long anyway. They don't allow many vampires with red hair, you know."

"Why?"

"Because the color reminds them of what they've lost – the sun, warm days, growing things. You've got the green eyes, too. It can be a cross to bear, I'll grant you. You're a slap in the face to them every time you enter a circle."

"Really? Maybe I'll let it grow long again."

Bearcat was a good name for him. He was massive, strong as a bear; his chest, arms and legs were covered in soft, cat fur and I burrowed closer. Archie laughed again and kept talking, too, like someone telling bedtime stories to a kid who couldn't get to sleep.

"The legends say red haired vampires are very powerful. At least three times as strong as your average blood sucker."

"Is that why Abby isn't bringing you over?" I asked.

Archie hesitated for a moment and then said, "Yes."

Damn, that was the wrong thing to say and I knew it the minute it fell out of my mouth. His hands kept petting me but he stopped talking and I thought, Bianco, you asshole, shut up. See, from the look of him, Archie would've had to have been a war veteran or a professional athlete to carry the kind of wounds he had on his body. Everywhere. First thing that happens soon as you sip Fae blood is the scars go away. Mine began to disappear the first night, all fading to nothing like they'd never been. Archie's were still there. Absinthe loved Archie and I could tell he loved her, too. It was only logical that they share the great gift together.

Time grew between us, long and awkward. Finally, I rose up and looked at him and said, "I don't usually talk too much and whenever I open my mouth, it's like I'm out of practice. I'm either telling people to fuck off or I'm asking questions that are none of my business. I'm sorry."

Archie winced and shook his head. "God," he said. "You are a sight."

"You going to need one bag or six?"

Back on the streets, we used to make jokes about mercy fucks. Never thought I'd be on the receiving end. Well, things change.

"Look, don't worry so much, okay?" Archie said. "Relax."

I tried. I settled back onto his chest and let him take care of me. Archie was such a kind man, such a warm and funny man. He handled me as if we'd been lovers forever, lifting me. Sliding deep inside - and no pain. No rush. Just patience and strength and warmth that spread through me like fire through the rain.

Our rocking shifted, deepened. Soon, my mouth was open on his throat and he was still stroking my back – not talking now – and we were together, flesh to flesh, as close as any two can be. It was very nice, very comfortable.

Very wrong.

He was only mortal and I was Fae so his secrets were easy to read, even when I tried not to. Of course I guessed right away but didn't want to say anything. Didn't want it to be true. Still, right in the middle of all that sweetness and dark, I thought to myself, He knows. He's lying.

Rick hadn't told him anything about bikes or accidents. Whatever Archie knew about my experience in the woods was something he'd known long before Rick and I showed up. Had to figure if the Bearcat knew something of what had happened, Absinthe knew it all. I was up to my neck – still – in Fae fun and games.

It is impossible to describe how bad that made me feel. How mad, damnit. No matter how hard I was trying not to, I liked these people. Couldn't explain it but I wanted them to like me, too. Maybe it was because things had been so severely fucked up for so long and I wanted it to be different. Maybe it was because I'd got a feel for how things could be when I was first with Tasia – and even before, long ago, when I was with Harry Doyle and Mama Rose. I just wanted to belong to something. I wanted to be with people I could like and trust who liked me back. Wondered why that seemed to be such an unnatural, impossible want.

"Aw, shit," I heard Archie say.

Left off from feeding, starved as I was. What I was thinking kind of took the edge off, anyway. Linked as we were, he could read me, too, although it took no great ability as raw as I was feeling. I was as complex as a pre-schooler's grammer.

We studied each other, my eyes all red and glazed from what I'd been doing. And thinking. When he looked back at me, his brown eyes were as mournful and sorry as I've ever seen human eyes be. And I have seen some sorry-looking faces. They're always sorry after. Of course by then, they've come so it's okay to feel other stuff again, like guilt and regret. They give you that sad-eyed look and you're supposed to feel sorry for them.

Not in that lifetime, sweetheart. Or this one either.

"Should have known you'd pick up on something," Archie said at last.

"Yeah."

"Don't ask me what I know. Don't ask and I won't lie."

I didn't.

"Truth is," he said, "I don't know that much. I don't want to know."

"Don't worry, Bearcat. I'll still respect you in the morning."

I didn't even try not to sneer. Archie shook his head, touched the spot on his throat I'd been gnawing and grimaced a little. Smiled, too, which surprised me. "You aren't at all what we expected."

"It wasn't such a surprise, me showing up here?"

"Not much. Abby reads the cards, you know."

"Yeah. So I saw."

"Old football players get by on guts and intuition." He lifted a lock of my hair and rubbed it between his fingers. "They might be wrong."

"What?"

"You could be the one," he said. "You could be it."

"What one?"

But he wouldn't say.

"Don't like the sound of that," I said. "It's too much like those games you and Rick were talking about. Except I'm the ball getting kicked around."

"Then don't be the ball. Be a player."

"Okay. Sure. And how am I supposed to do that?"

He gave my hair a sharp little tug. Looked at me serious and said, "Grow up."

"Thank you, Professor Stutz. Now all my problems are solved."

"The biggest problem you've got right now is you, babe. Anybody can see you came over young. That's going to be hard for you, the longer you go on. You don't need to complicate your situation by acting like a kid. This is the part where you rip my throat out, right?"

"Close."

"Tony, I don't know what happened to you. I guess it was bad but I've seen bad before. You're not alone and you're not the only one," he went on, blunt. "You didn't have a childhood. Well, you aren't ever going to have one. Don't waste your time looking for it. No one's ever going to take care of you. No one's ever going to make it all better for you. It's not fair, but that's how it is. You can't change it."

Well. Here was the Van Helsing I'd joked about with Rick. Every word was a hammer-pounded stake and hit right where it hurt the worse. Struck places I didn't even know I had.

"Whatever happened to you, you survived it." Archie cupped my face between his big hands, holding me up to look into his. "I'll bet you've spent a lifetime reacting to crisis after crisis. You picked up on scars fast enough. You've probably had a few. It's time to stop reacting. You've got to pick up the ball. You've got to get in the play. You've got to."

"Or what?" I asked, amazed.

"Or nothing," he answered, flat. "It's done. Over. Finished for all of us."

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